Unbroken Circle
by Ruine
Summary: Even the most simple of folk can inspire... Luther Lansfeld discovers this in the most unusual, and yet most expected, of places. Full Details Inside.


**T****itle**: **Unbroken Circle** ( **1**/**1** )  
**W****ritten ****b****y ****R****uine**  
**D****isclaimer**: Ocean - Till the End of Time © Square-Enix & Tri-Ace  
**C****haracter**(**s**): Luther Lansfield, Arissa Vedal (Original Character), Fayt Leingod  
**P****airing**(**s**): None  
**W****arning**(**s**): Unbeta'ed, Waffy-ish, Religious Connotations  
**S****tatus**: Edited  
**R****ating**: Spiritual, PG-13  
**S****ummary**: Even the most simple of folk can inspire . . .  
**W****ord ****C****ount**: 3,647

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**LAST REVISION**: 23 JANUARY 2012. Corrected some grammatical errors, changed the format of my fanfiction.

* * *

[ **1** ]

"**E**xcuse me but may I ask you something, Lady?"

Startled by the soft and unexpected voice, Arissa Vedal looked up quickly from her clasped hands. The last whispered words of the ending prayer still lingered around her as her gaze rested on the handsome young man sitting beside her. Instantly, she recognized him. He had been coming to the church for the last four days, she recalled. He never prayed but merely sat at the first pew, close to where she would usually sit, and look around. She also remembered quite clearly that his features were so impassive and how those sharp, brilliant blue eyes would sweep the cathedral carefully. She couldn't help but feel he was searching; for what exactly, she could never determine.

"Of course," she said, smiling politely as she shifted to face him. She allowed her hands to fall onto her lap and waited patiently for his question.

"Why do you come here every day?"

Arissa blinked, her fading surprise rushing back twofold; she never expected him to ask her that. "To pray for my daughter's recovery," she explained simply.

"She is ill?"

Arissa nodded slowly, a hand clenching the rough wool of her skirt as she suddenly remembered the tiny, wasted figure of her child lying on her small bed back at home. "Yes, the doctors say she may never recover and that they can do no more for her . . . that it would . . . that it would only be a matter of time."

"Is that why you are here, then? When medicine and runology can no longer help you; you turn to this?" he gestured briefly at the statue of Apris.

A hint of disdain dusted his voice but Arissa was not one quick to anger. Instead, she answered with quiet firmness. "Yes, where else is there to turn but to my God when I have looked everywhere else?"

"Do you think it is that simple?" he looked strangely bemused.

"You don't sound very pleased or convinced."

"I merely find the idea of trusting an entity you cannot see, hear, feel or touch troubling. Has Apris even acknowledged your cry for help? Has he sent you a sign? I highly doubt it. Yet, you have been here every day I've been in this town and I imagine you've been doing this long before I came and probably will continue to long after I leave."

"Yes," Arissa nodded. "I have been here since my daughter took ill and and will continue to come here as long as it takes for her to recover."

"And when your daughter finally dies?"

"I will come to pray for her soul, so she may find the happiness in the next life that I could not give her in this one."

"May I ask you something now?" Arissa leaned forward, clasping the shawl she wore and tugged the edges close over her narrow shoulders.

"Of course, it's only fair."

"Why do you come to this church? You do not strike me as one who follows Apris. However, I've seen you here for the last four days."

"You are right, I am a man who believes that I alone make my destiny. I don't believe in religion; I find that most of those who follow it are weak-willed and indecisive. They take religion as a means of escape. This is so because they hide behind their 'devotion' when they come upon a hurdle and cannot find it in themselves to step forward alone or they see religion as a way to seek aid for the smallest of matters. It amuses me when I see them become angry when their wishes are unheard."

"I see that is how you feel." Arissa moved her eyes to the the altar as she mulled over his words. She watched idly as the bright sunlight filter into the chamber from the large, beautifully painted windows; making the motes of dust sparkle like gold as they hovered over the large slab of white marble. She felt the corners of her mouth lift faintly. "However, you did not answer my question."

From the corner of her eye, Arissa thought she saw a fleeting smile grace his face.

He leaned against the pew's backrest. ". . . I was curious about you. You have never faltered, and from what I can see you are a strong woman. You've done all you can for your daughter, sacrificed all you have and nothing has changed. So here you are . . . this is the last desperate hope for you."

"You have been asking around about me?"

"Yes."

"You are a very thorough man when you're intrigued, aren't you?"

"You are not alarmed? I expected you to accuse me of prying. Other individuals would have berated me and warned me away. I wonder if I have given offense but you do not show it even now after I've told you. You have magnificent control of your temper . . ." Under his breath, he added. "Unlike some others I know."

"Oh, I'm not angry!" Arissa laughed softly. "Yes, I was told I was slow to anger . . . and the reason I'm not alarmed is because I can feel that there is no malicious intent in you; just simple curiosity. And, in a small way, it's slightly flattering to have such a handsome man become so interested in me!" She beamed briefly before her features relaxed.

"You're a very strange woman." The look he was giving made her giggle.

"I know. I've been told that a great deal, too . . ." she fell silent then said softly, knowingly. "I puzzle you."

He drew a deep breath. "Yes." He admitted finally.

"Are you from Airyglpyh?"

"No. Why?"

"I was just wondering, you remind me of a Glyphian I met once. He had the same cynical sentiment towards religion."

"I hope it wasn't a swordsman, had an overly inflated ego of himself and likes to call everyone 'Worm' or 'Maggot'."

Arissa shook her head. "No, he was a businessman; visiting a sick relative here."

"I see. That seems to happen a great deal in this town; illness."

She played with the hem of her shawl; the silence that settled over them was comfortable yet pregnant with patient anticipation. "I suppose you're hoping I could shed some light as to why I continue to come to pray when it is likely to you that I am wasting my time."

"Yes."

"It is all has to do with faith and hope."

"Excuse me?"

"I come because I have faith and hope. I must continue to have both . . . if I do not then my daughter would be long dead. For I would have given up long ago."

"We all think and feel. We must have reasons, goals and wishes . . . desires that would define our lives and ourselves. To many, religion grants this. An anchor in a uncaring world."

"How can you say that?"

"Religion breeds faith. Faith grants hope and hope bestows the strength to step forward and move on even when all seems lost. That, I think is the reason I come here."

". . . I think I understand."

"We must always strive to fulfill our tasks and our duties but when we fall short despite all of what we've done for our aims we turn to our faith and our hope to assure ourselves that this is simply only a minor problem. Usually, this belief serves as the little push we need to close the distance we still must go and, ultimately, succeed in the end."

"What happens when even those are not enough? Despite all of your praying and all of your hoping and all of your faith; your daughter still dies? What then?"

"It hasn't happened yet . . ." Arissa trailed off, staring at her lap and at her hands; fighting the sudden tears that leapt to her eyes. She had thought she had shed all of them. Stubbornly, she forced them back. "Until the day it does, I will cling to my faith and my hope. However, if my God forsakes me; then I will still continue to believe and hope."

"Why?" the man looked almost pained in his confusion. Frustration coated his voice like acid.

Arissa lifted her head and smiled at him tenderly. "Because I must; my precious child may be gone. My husband taken from me because of the wars but I still live. Since I do, I will look forward, I will always believe and I will always hope. Otherwise, I will be worse than dead and I don't want my daughter's spirit or my sweet husband's soul to be troubled as I imagine they will be if they see I am unhappy."

". . ." The man scowled deeply. Arissa mused that the permanent furrow on his brow was probably because he did that very often. She wished she could ease his troubles. However, she knew that the peace he sought could only be found in himself. If he ever had the will to accept the truth she saw he was denying. Arissa realized that she could only offer advice and this she would do eagerly and generously. Apris' teachings demanded no less.

"This faith and hope is what drives people towards incredible acts? It just doesn't keep a person living but fighting as well? Even if what they face is impossible and unattainable?"

Arissa's smile widened. "Exactly."

"Enough to defy God himself?"

Arissa blinked in surprise. "What a strange question."

"Is this enough?" he pressed; almost desperate without appearing so. "To match God _and_ win?"

"The Gods are built on our faith in them. If we lost belief, they would fade and be forgotten; where is their power then?"

The man stared at her silently, intensely. For an instance, Arissa glimpsed stark revelation in the deep sapphire eyes; this shock slowly morphed into bittersweet amusement and acceptance. "Ah. That's a very good answer. Does that mean if Apris does not save your daughter; you will abandon him?"

Arissa giggled. "I never said that, you're twisting my words!"

"Would you?"

Becoming serious, she pursed her lips in thought. "I am not sure. I will admit it will shake my faith . . ." she fell silent; abruptly disturbed at where her had musings wandered. "I nearly abandoned my God before when my husband died. But, I realized that I merely needed to believe in Him. I knew He would find a way to ease the pain in my heart because I continued to trust Him. When I learned I was with child . . . I knew He had answered me."

"Yes, how gentle a God," he smirked, snorting with surprising derision. "Take your husband from you yet leave you a child and then, just as quickly appear to be taking her away. Can you still keep your faith and your hope when faced with this?"

". . . I really don't know." Arissa confessed, her whisper laced with the faintest stain of old hurt and long-buried grief. The shawl rustled like an angry snake as she clutched the fabric in a white-knuckled grip; her mind envisioning all that had happened in the past and what could come to pass in the future. The possibilities alone chilled her.

"I am sorry," the man reached over and covered the trembling fists of her hands in one of his; his warm touch banished the slew of horrible thoughts and returned her to the silent, brightly-lit church. "That was uncalled for. I am asking you of a matter that has not happened; will not happen."

"No, no . . ." Arissa straightened, breathing deeply. "It's alright. You have given me something to think about after all of this is finished. One way or another." She shrugged. "Perhaps, you're not the only one who learned something today."

"Yes, you did teach me something interesting." He gifted her with a dazzling smile and Arissa could only stare, captivated. Dimly, she thought. _He is a very handsome young man_, _he should smile more often_ . . . "If I may say, it seems where you come from religion is not commonplace." She blurted, instead of what she was thinking.

"No, it isn't. Where I come from . . . religion is viewed with cynical disregard. Hope . . . is nothing . . . or of little consequence. There is only surety and order; ambition and pride are what drives us now that I've thought about it."

"You must live in a lonely place."

Outside, the town's bell tolled the hour. Arissa gasped slightly, twisting in her seat to look behind her. "Goodness, it's late. I need to return home."

"Yes, you should. I won't apologize for keeping you; your company was pleasurable and enlightening." He grinned charmingly.

Arissa blushed and couldn't help but smile in return. "Your company was equally enjoyable."

"Thank you." He looked so solemn and serious; Arissa could not help but bow her head gravely. "You are welcome."

She stood smoothly and stepped away from the pew. Halfway across the aisle, she stopped and whirled around. "Oh, may I know your name?" she called softly.

From where he still sat at the bench, the young man turned and offered a faint, mysterious smile. "Go home to your daughter, Arissa, she's waiting for you. I've kept you from her long enough."

"I don't think it is fair you know nearly everything about me and I don't even know your name." She countered.

"I'll tell you before I leave town. Ask me again tomorrow. Now, go."

"I'll hold you to that promise." Arissa nodded in satisfaction and, compelled by power in that voice, walked out of the church without a backward glance.

[ **2** ]

"Mama!"

Still holding the door in one hand and halfway inside the house, Arissa could only stare in disbelieving wonder at the vision before her; the force of this shock sent her sinking to her knees. From the sole bedroom of their humble abode, little Aileen raced out and collided into her chest. The pain of the impact was never noticed in the slightest as Arissa wrapped her arms hungrily around her _healthy_, happily squealing child.

"Mama! Welcome home, where have you been?" Aileen draw back to look at her; smiling brightly. Still speechless, Arissa could only continue to embrace her daughter; trailing hesitant hands over her small, warm body. She searched for any hint of the illness that had wasted her child to flesh and bones but found nothing. Silently, Arissa prayed with fervor that this was no dream . . . or if it was one, she would never wake.

". . . Mama? Why are you crying? Did I do something bad? I'm sorry if I did! Mama?"

"No, no! My precious little one, you didn't!" Arissa soothed, choking back her sobs as she smiled, wiping away the hot tears she could feel coursing freely down her cheeks. "You've done absolutely nothing wrong! In fact, you've been wonderful, baby!"

Aileen relaxed, her smile widening into a grin. "Oh, good. I don't ever want Mama to cry because of me . . ."

Arissa laughed, kissing the top of her daughter's head, reveling in the familiar fragrance of the brown locks. "If you keep that promise, Aileen, then Mama will never have to cry again."

"Ok! I promise!"

Her mother laughed again and carried her to the small table in the middle of the house. "That's my little girl. Now, I know I have some pastries in the cupboard, and I also know my little girl loves those, right?"

"Yes! Thank you so much, Mama! You're the best!" Aileen nearly strangled her mother in a hug.

"Only because I have a wonderful, perfect daughter," Arissa told her breathlessly, receiving yet another crushing embrace and a butterfly kiss on the cheek.

"I love you, Mama."

[ **3** ]

From a window facing the street, Luther Lansfield watched silently as a still crying Arissa and her giggling daughter settled in front of the small dining table; talking animatedly with each other as Arissa prepared a treat. He noted with some amusement that the snack was an apple pie. A pensive but satisfied smile slunk across his mouth and touched his eyes. "Faith and hope . . ." he echoed flatly, the tone belaying his eyes and features. "How quaint."

"Did you find the answer you were looking for?"

Without a hint of alarm at the sudden voice, he turned to fix the speaker with an arched eyebrow and a careless shrug. "Yes, I think I did. I'm beginning to see why I lost."

"Hmn, I'll keep that in mind then so if we're ever on opposing sides again; I'll make sure I know you're wiser now." Fayt Leingod sauntered from the corner of the street where he had been watching and fell into step beside the Creator as the blond walked away from the house. The blue-haired youth glanced into the window and smiled warmly in satisfaction and approval before looking to his companion. "I take it we're finally leaving Peterny? You've been putting it off for the last four days."

"Yes, we can leave after I meet her and tell her my name. If she decides to go to church tomorrow; I imagine her daughter will keep her very busy." Luther strode smoothly through the alleyways; intimate with his course.

"I see. She really must have left quite an impression on you."

"Yes, she did," Luther slowed and rubbed his chin. "She actually made me question my world. Now, I wonder if it is the beings of the Fourth Dimension who are the ones fading rather than the creations we've made."

"I don't think you need to worry about it that much. Since you did create this and, in extension, her then somewhere in you is still that part of you that can hope, dream and believe."

"That just sounds like something you would say, Fayt." Luther shook his head. "How _can_ someone still hold so much . . . emotion? She lost everything a few years ago, and for six months her daughter hovered on the verge of death! She is nothing more than a simple woman but she still persevered. She shouldn't have been able to . . . she is a . . . collection of data." He grounded out abruptly, furiously. "I . . ."

"Is she? Does data formulate such equations as faith, love, hope? And I'm not talking about the fabrications you insist we're merely 'running' in response to appropriate stimuli."

"Besides, I don't think you've managed to find the codex for those yet," Fayt continued. "If you did, then, you really are God."

"Why thank you for telling me just how much you believe in my programming skills or lack of them."

"I'm merely pointing out that you're going to have to face the fact that I and all of those who live in what you call the Eternal Sphere are not simply codes and bits of data. We're real . . . perhaps, like Blair theorized, you did touch a different dimension instead of created a new universe like you originally assumed. I admit that you probably had a great deal to do with a lot of our advances and achievements but I don't think you created how we think and feel. Not entirely."

"The theory is becoming more and more plausible . . . and even if this is a different dimension, I still find it just so hard to contemplate how she did it. She's normal, and she's had to handle many tragedies . . . yet she continues . . . she can still wake up each morning and _smile_."

"That's what she's been trying to telling you from the start, Luther!" Fayt looked exasperated. "That _is_ what it means to have faith and to live each day with hope. It makes even the most simple of people capable of the most wonderful things. Religion is just another way we can rationalize how to act. It's just a word; but we are the ones who make it more than a term."

". . ." Luther stopped walking, staring off towards the darkening skies. Twilight steadily approached and one of the streetlamps near the pair flickered on, raining gentle, gold radiance on them. With a vigorous shake of his head, Luther continued forward; his pace slow and preoccupied. "So you say," he murmured. "Come. We better get back to the inn."

Fayt remained quiet for the rest of the trek, leaving Luther to brood; this silence was broken only when they arrived at the bustling square of the city. They mingled into the throng, each lost in his thoughts.

"Are you going to do this often? The miracles, I mean." Fayt asked suddenly, keeping close to Luther; he pitched his voice so he was heard over the din.

"Maybe, I will," the former Owner admitted carefully. "It does give a small sense of pleasure."

Fayt laughed and winked. "I'll make a good guy out of you yet, Luther."

"You can try, Leingod; but this could be temporary, I imagine if I stayed with Nox for a week, this bout of generosity will vanish very shortly. That man brings out the worst in me."

"I know; you do the same to him." Fayt released a long-suffering sigh. "That's why I try to keep the both of you apart sometimes. It's less world-endangering that way."

"Besides," Luther smirked wickedly. "As their 'God', I need to do this sort of thing once in a while. I don't want to be forgotten after all."

"Trust me, Luther," Fayt assured him with a brilliant grin. "I don't think you ever will be."

**T****he ****E****nd**.


End file.
